


Dance the Night Away

by moonmagician



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet, Dancing, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Teen Angst, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmagician/pseuds/moonmagician
Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste are seventeen now, and their lives have changed a lot. Both their fathers are pressuring them about their futures in unimaginable ways, but all that both of them want to do -- and, in this AU, have always wanted to do -- is dance. They do it as civilians...and somehow, in a strange turn of events that isn't all positive, they find a way to do it as superheroes. The two teenagers have to battle home pressures, akumas, other dancers, a sinister new plan from Hawk Moth, AND their blooming feelings for each other, all as their last year of high school wraps up. Can they do it? I guess we'll see...NOTES: All characters are aged up. Not everything that occurs in the fic will be canon, mostly because I haven't watched ML in quite a while -- please be lenient about that, it's fanfic for a reason. Rating is M for future chapters, and all sexual activity that occurs is safe and consensual (unless stated otherwise, in which case there will be a trigger warning). Updates might be slow depending on how fast I get ideas, but I hope you'll stay for the ride :)
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Plagg/Tikki (Miraculous Ladybug)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which this disaster of a story is introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to the first chapter of Dance the Night Away! I've loved ML and shipped the two main characters since I first watched the show, and I've been reading fanfic on AO3 for a few years -- I figured it was high time I wrote my own. In this story, Adrien and Marinette are both ballet dancers, and their superhero alter-egos will get up to...well, OTHER kinds of dancing. Please be gentle, this is my first real story :)
> 
> WARNING: the f-slur is used in this chapter. Proceed at your own risk.

“I’m headed to the studio.”

“You have homework to do.”

“I’ve finished it.”

“Marinette...”

_Here we go again._

“Dancing isn’t a real profession, honey.” Tom Dupain’s face had been carefully arranged into what he probably thought was a kind and understanding expression, but Marinette could see right through it, and her blood positively boiled at his condescending tone. “Do you really expect to make something of yourself doing _ballet_ all your life?”

“Considering the fact that hundreds of other women have extremely successful careers as dance troupe members, I’d say it’s possible,” Marinette responded, fighting to keep her voice even.

“Hundreds out of how many, Marinette?”

“What, you don’t think I’m good enough to make it against all the other dancers out there?”

“All I’m saying is, you’re just one out of a million other little girls who want to be dancers, and I’d rather you not waste your time fighting to get a questionable job with an even more questionable salary when you could be doing something better with your life.”

Marinette gritted her teeth. “Has it not occurred to you that maybe I don’t care about the salary, and just care about doing what I _want to do_? Or is that not a thing in this household anymore?”

Tom’s eyes flashed with irritation for a moment, but he hurriedly smoothed his features. “You could excel in English literature, if you just signed up for the course I recommended you--”

 _“I don’t want to study English!_ ” Marinette hissed out. “Just because I’m good at it and it pays well doesn’t mean I want to do it! What would I even do with an English degree?”

“You watch your tone, young lady--”

“Tom, is this really necessary?” Marinette’s mother poked her head into the room, her features creased with sympathy for her daughter as she took in the standoff occurring before her. “If she wants to dance, I don’t see why we can’t let her--”

“Because now is the time when she needs to be getting on track for what she’ll study in college, and I will not have any daughter of mine going to _art school_ ,” Tom growled, abandoning his attempts to play nice. “First it was fashion, and now you’re back to dancing when I’d hoped you kicked that dream in elementary school--”

“Tom, stop--”

“No, Sabine! We’ve been coddling her for too long, she needs to hear this--”

Marinette felt herself start to shake and her eyes pricked with moisture as her parents’ voices rose in front of her. Everything was getting too loud, it was too much -- she gasped for air, taking in each lungful like it was her last, but even getting it down her windpipe was a struggle--

“--and -- sweetheart, are you alright?”

Both Sabine and Tom turned to stare at their daughter, who had seemed to shrink two inches since the beginning of their conversation and now stood there, red-faced and trembling, the picture of a frightened little girl. She tried to open her mouth to respond to her mother, but all that came out was a whimper.

_Fuck, not an anxiety attack. Not now._

“Marinette? Honey? Honey, it’s okay, I’m here.” Sabine fluttered over to her daughter, taking Marinette’s face in her hands and brushing her thumbs over the skin as comfortingly as she could. “We’ll talk about the dancing later--”

Tom made a sound like he was about to interrupt, but Sabine silenced him with a harsh glare before turning back to her daughter. “Right now, you just focus on doing what makes you happy, alright? Deep breaths.”

Marinette knew her mother meant well, but her father’s imposing presence and the waves of anger rolling off of him clogged her senses, filled the room, and made it all the more difficult to breathe. She started to shake even harder, twisted out of her mother’s grasp, dashed past her father, and felt blindly for her dance bag by the stairs.

“Sweetheart--”

“Marinette, this conversation is _not_ over--”

Their voices blurred in Marinette’s ears as she stumbled down the steps into the bakery on the ground floor, ducking her head and rushing out the door before any of the customers could stare. A cheerful bell signaled her exit, but behind her she could still hear her father’s murmurs.

“She is taking the literature course if I have to _drag_ her there. And this dancing will be taking a sideline the _second_ the new semester starts.”

The fresh air burned on her face as the tears began to fall.

\---

“I’m headed to the studio.”

“You have homework to do.”

“I’ve finished it.”

“Adrien...”

_Here we go again._

“You’re turning yourself into a faggot,” Gabriel Agreste snapped as Adrien passed his office door with dance bag in hand.

“How so?” Adrien responded calmly, far too used to his father’s jibes to take much notice.

“You’re taking fucking _ballet_ lessons, Adrien,” Gabriel Agreste snarled as he looked up from his papers, taking in his son’s gray shirt and black leggings. “What kind of self-respecting man does that?”

“The kind who doesn’t give a shit about the norms,” Adrien shot back.

“Watch your tongue,” his father said.

Adrien loved his father. Really, he did. But from the day Adrien had woken up with growing pains in his legs and the ghost of a beard on his chin, Gabriel Agreste had thrown himself into Adrien’s modeling career and focused on nothing else about his son’s life -- their relationship, his hobbies...his happiness. It was always business with Gabriel, always “I’ll have to check my schedule” this and “take it up with my assistant” that. It was exhausting.

Taking a swig from the flask beside his laptop, Gabriel muttered, “I wanted a real son. Not one who went around dancing in frilly tutus and putting kohl around his eyes. I wanted a son who would make something of himself.”

“Right, like it isn’t any more _faggoty_ to own a clothing line?” Adrien all but shouted.

He snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late. The look his father gave him would’ve made anyone’s blood turn to ice, and it rooted Adrien to the spot.

“That is no way to talk to the person who raised you--”

“Some job you did of that!”

He couldn’t control himself. Why couldn’t he control himself? Why did he keep opening his mouth? This was the only place he ever closed it, but now he was abandoning all of his carefully constructed safe zones--

His father hurled the flask. Adrien ducked; it shattered against the wall behind him.

“Get the fuck out of this house, you faggot!” his father howled, papers flying everywhere. “And don’t you dare come back until you’ve learned some fucking respect, and learned what it _really_ means to be a man! Get out! OUT!”

And so Adrien stormed out.

\---

Marinette slipped into the studio from the side entrance, and made a beeline for her favorite room at the very back of the building -- it was a bit older, sure, and the janitors cleaned the floors a lot less, but it was secluded and had a view of the Seine through a dirty window on the back wall.

As soon as the door swung shut behind her, Marinette dropped her dance bag and her legs gave out, sending her to the floor in a trembling, graceless heap. She’d cried so much on the walk over that her eyes were dry now, but it didn’t stop her from shaking and gasping as she gave in to the anxiety attack.

A million thoughts rushed over her at once. Wishing things between her father could be the way they were when she was thirteen, wishing that she was good enough for him, being terrified about the possibility that he was right and she would never make it as a dancer, the list went on and on.

Any bad thoughts that Marinette could’ve possibly had about herself and her situation and her future were being crammed into her mind at once -- you name it, it was probably swirling around in that dark head somewhere.

_Why couldn’t she be good enough? Why couldn’t what she wanted to do be good enough?_

Her father’s gruff voice and darkened eyes flickered against the back of her eyelids, and she trembled harder. She heard his voice, telling her to study English, telling her she’d never make it in the world as a _dancer._ Her fingernails bit crescent-shaped marks into her palms.

_Dancing isn’t a real profession, honey._

_Hundreds out of how many, Marinette?_

_She is taking that literature course if I have to_ drag _her there..._

Marinette swore, smacking her palms against the polished wood of the floor and biting her lip as fresh tears burned in the back of her eyes again.

She knew the aftereffects of the attack wouldn’t be gone for most of the day, but after about ten minutes (or was it fifteen?) her breaths had subsided enough that she could stand up again, even if she had to hold onto the wall for a few dizzying moments.

Despite her shortness of breath and knocking knees, Marinette knew the only thing that would help work out this tension was dancing. She shed her jacket, wriggled out of her pants, and pulled on a pair of leggings, not feeling up to wearing the restricting tights she usually danced in. Sliding her feet into her pointe shoes and lacing them up as best she could with trembling hands, Marinette hauled herself back up off the floor and wrapped one of her slim hands around the barre attached to the mirrored wall, getting ready to warm up.

She was too engrossed in stretching her arms, legs, and back to hear the door to the room click open, and too busy setting up her Bluetooth speaker with some classical music to notice the inquisitive green eyes staring at her from the doorway. She was too lost in the movements of one of Chopin’s waltzes, falling into a practiced rhythm with a routine she’d learned a few months ago for her pointe exams. A complicated series of pirouettes, leaps, and assemblés sent her flying across the room with abandon and grace, all of her pent-up frustrations being let out on the dance floor.

All too soon, the music faded, and it was only then that Marinette paused, opened her eyes, and spotted her company in the mirror.

She let out a squeak of surprise and tripped over herself, landing on the floor in a heap as a stray shoe ribbon ensnared her ankle. It hurt, but not as much as the realization that Adrien Agreste had been in the room for who knows how long, and she’d _just now noticed him._

“AHH! W-What -- how--?” Marinette hardly had the time to get a word out before the handsome blonde was beside her, hands on her upper arms and emerald eyes gazing concernedly into hers.

“Are you okay?”

_Come on, Marinette, use your big girl sentences._

“Mmf -- what? Oh, fine! Great! You’re super great and I’m fine to see you!”

_Great fucking job._

Adrien chuckled a little, and Marinette felt herself relax just slightly as she admired how carelessly handsome he looked in the half-light. When their friend groups hung out at school, he talked about how messy he looked in the mornings, but Marinette personally thought that his scruffy, untamed look was his best. 

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure. That looked like a nasty fall.”

Marinette tried to control the five-alarm blush that was quickly heating up her cheeks, and stared determinedly at the floor. “N-no, it was nothing. I’ve had worse spills...I am a dancer, after all.”

“I could see that,” Adrien said with a grin.

Marinette felt her heart drop into her stomach. “How long were you standing there?”

With a sheepish look on his face, Adrien swallowed and responded, “Long enough. I, uh...I saw the whole dance.”

Oh, fuck. Great. It was time for Marinette to sink into the ground and die.

“You -- wuhh? The w-whole thing?”

 _SPEAK ENGLISH, IDIOT!_ her brain screamed at her.

Her heart melted at the sincere look on Adrien’s face.

_Oh my god, he’s pitying me. He hates me, he thought it was awful and he’s trying to find a way to let me down gently oh my god oh my g--_

“Yeah. You’re...really good.”

_\--and he’s never going to want to talk to you again, not like he ever wanted to before--_

“Wait, what?”

_Adrien Agreste just told you that you were good at dancing._

“I said you’re really good.” Satisfied that Marinette hadn’t concussed herself or sprained her ankles, Adrien sat back on his haunches and looked at her with undisguised admiration. “That waltz is one of my favorites -- and that was the choreo that we learned for the exam in February, wasn’t it?”

_Adrien Agreste just told you that you were good at dancing._

Marinette blinked in shock. “Y-yeah...you remember that?”

_Adrien Agreste just told you that you were good at dancing._

“I’ve been in ballet class with you for six years, silly, of course I do.” He gave her shoulder a friendly nudge, and the slight contact made Marinette’s entire body buzz. Was she still alive? She wasn’t sure.

But _lord_ knows she knew Adrien had ballet class with her...she’d watched him dance at the front of the classroom every single evening, admired the poised and almost easy way with which he moved, the way his hair flew across his face and the way his green eyes glowed with concentration.

“I, uh....” Her voice seemed to stick in her throat. “Thank you.”

“Just being honest.” Adrien straightened up, and offered his hand to help her. Marinette debated taking a moment to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, but on the off chance that she wasn’t and that Adrien would find it weird, she decided to just slip her hand into his and let him pull her to her feet.

She wasn’t going to wash that hand for the rest of the week.

He let go of her -- much to her disappointment -- once he was sure she was upright, and his gaze fell to the floor. For the first time, Marinette noticed the slight downward pull to Adrien’s mouth, the exhausted line of his brow, and the slight flush to his cheeks.

“Are _you_ okay?”

Adrien’s eyes snapped back up to her face, and Marinette had to fight to keep from blushing again.

“What?”

“You just...seemed a little -- I don’t know, I don’t want to pry, you just looked sad -- and I’ve never seen you come to the studio alone before, so I was wondering if maybe you -- uhhh--” Marinette cursed herself for continuing to babble, but couldn’t seem to stop.

Luckily, Adrien seemed to sense her discomfort and chose that moment to interject. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just...y’know, a tough day.”

Marinette felt herself soften. “Me too.”

As he reached down to pick up his discarded dance bag, Adrien smiled halfheartedly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was coming here to blow off some steam, but I see that you got the idea before I did. I’ll leave you to it.”

“No--!” Marinette felt herself blurt the word out before she could stop it. “You can, uh...stay, if you want.”

“Stay and do what? Watch you?” Adrien said. “As much as I would enjoy that, I know for a fact that I’d be a disturbance.”

“Hardly,” Marinette muttered under her breath. She hadn’t intended him to hear it, but his lips quirked up and she felt herself melt at the expression.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ll get myself another room. Wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

 _You could never,_ Marinette thought to herself.

At the door, Adrien turned to look back at her. “Try not to trip too much, okay? I’d hate to think of you getting hurt because you didn’t have a cute blonde boy to catch you.”

And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! Thank you for any kudos, hits, and bookmarks; they mean a lot, and I hope that this story will go somewhere really fun! I don't really know what's going to happen right now because I have a bad habit of not planning out my plots before I start writing....but I know it'll be a fun ride regardless!


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya and Marinette have a "wholesome" interaction, and there is a lot of aggressive exposition. (The real stuff begins next chapter, I promise.)

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had had a crush on Adrien Agreste since the moment she’d first laid eyes on him at age thirteen; her best friend Alya Césaire had been fed up with this crush since about two seconds after it started.

Alya was practically a second daughter to Marinette’s parents, so even though it was a Monday morning, they hadn’t batted an eye when she sashayed into the bakery, swiped a croissant from the counter, and bounded up the stairs to her best friend’s bedroom.

“You’d better be paying for that, Alya!” Sabine called up the stairs good-naturedly.

The pretty redhead slammed the door open without knocking, and a half-naked Marinette let out a squeak of surprise, reaching out to cover her bare chest before realizing who it was.

“Alya! What are you--”

“Less chitchat, more spilling,” Alya said breezily, closing the door behind her and sprawling across Marinette’s pink duvet like it was her own. “I got your text, but I got no details, and you know that I need my details in order to survive. Something about the blonde boy you refuse to move on from?”

“Can I find a shirt first?” Marinette grumbled.

“You act like seeing your gorgeous titties could make me uncomfortable,” Alya said with a wink. “Besides, I’ve already--”

“Fooling around once in tenth grade does _not_ count,” Marinette shot back, selecting a sky-blue blouse that went beautifully with the half-buttoned white jeans she had on.

“I don’t know, I’d say that your assets have become even better since then,” Alya drawled, keeping her composure for just a moment before lapsing into a fit of giggles alongside her best friend.

“You’re one to talk,” Marinette chuckled as she fastened her bra at the back, gesturing to Alya’s much ampler chest. “You’d think those planets would have their own little moons orbiting around them.”

The pair dissolved into snickers, but Alya was back to business a second later, sitting up and leaning forward. “Seriously though, Marinette. What’s all this about bumping into your favorite slice of skinny white boy at the dance studio?”

“He’s not _skinny_!” Marinette objected. “He’s just--”

“A dreamy hunk of half-melted butter, yeah yeah, same difference,” Alya finished, rolling her eyes. “So what happened? Were you as much of an awkward mess as you usually are?”

“I could hardly get two words out!” Marinette wailed. “I went over there to dance in private, but I fell, and he helped me up. And he seemed sad, so I asked him how he was and he said he was having a rough day, and he _saw me dance_ \--”

“No _way!_ What did he say?”

Marinette blushed, shuffling her feet and staring at the floor. “He said I was really good, but that’s besides the point--”

“How is that besides the point? You melt into your shoes whenever he so much as _looks_ at you, and now you’ve got an actual _compliment_ from the boy! I can hear wedding bells in the distance already.”

Marinette groaned. “I’m serious, Alya, I’m pretty sure I really embarrassed myself--”

“Why are you so worried?” Alya asked, casting her eyes heavenward. “He was sweet to you when you fell, complimented your dancing, you asked after each other’s health -- it’s not like the world has turned upside down, Mari.”

“It _has_ though!” Marinette howled. “Things are going to be so different -- how can I face him at school after this?”

“After what?” Alya snapped, exasperated. “After your first _normal conversation_ with him? You’ll face him at school and have _another_ normal conversation with him -- because, Marinette, in case you didn’t notice, _normal conversations_ are how people get to like each other.”

“Oh, please,” Marinette scoffed. “I’ve given up on getting him to like me. It’s been four years.”

“Your state of bumbling idiocy says otherwise.”

Marinette pouted at that, and Alya’s face softened. “Hey, hey. C’mere.”

She patted the space on the duvet beside her, and Marinette sat.

“I know that it feels really scary, but Mari, he’s only a boy. And you had a conversation with him, which is a really good step in the right direction, isn’t it? What’s there to be nervous about? I’ve had a million conversations with boys.”

“Right, because you’re Alya,” Marinette muttered. “Talking to boys for you is like what writing English papers is for me.”

“And I don’t know how you do it,” Alya said, throwing her arms around her ridiculous friend’s shoulders. “I also don’t even know what you see in him -- he’s such a regular white boy. You’re a knockout, and you could have your pick of the boys at school, but--”

“Hey, aren’t you two friends? That’s not a very nice thing to say about--”

Alya rolled her eyes. “All I’m saying is, you’ve taken a step, and now you should just keep taking them.”

“How?”

“Talk to him again!” Alya chirped, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Don’t just gush and be all like _Oh Adrien marry me I’m so in love with you and will worship you forever and keep a shrine to you in my closet--”_

Marinette turned bright pink. “Hey, I tore that down three years ago!”

Alya giggled. “Just _talk to him._ Like a _normal human being._ Worry about being his friend before you start thinking about maybe being his crush.”

Sighing, Marinette glanced out the window. “There’s literally a billboard right there with his face on it, Alya. It’ll never happen.”

“Will too.” Alya craned her neck to look. “Oh, _Eau de Crève-Cœur._ Boy’s got good taste.”

“Alya--”

“Just because he’s a model with a strict dad doesn’t mean anything. Don’t put him on a pedestal any more than you already have. There’s _totally_ a chance!”

“How?” pouted Marinette.

“Well, for one, he’s seen you in Lulu Lemon leggings. And lemme tell you, those things are _tight.”_

If she’d been previously pink in the face, now Marinette was positively flaming. “ _ALYA!”_

\---

“Good morning, boys,” Alya trilled as she and Marinette slid into their seats behind Adrien and Nino. “Oh, and Nino.”

“Very funny,” Nino grumbled.

“Has Madame Arneaux handed back the essays yet? I’m _so_ excited to get back my big fat F.”

“Oh, me too,” Adrien chimed in. “I swear I’m supposed to be fluent in English, but when I need to write an essay I forget the entire language.”

Ruffling his blonde hair, Alya responded, “Don’t worry, sweet boy. You don’t need to be good at English to be a trophy husband.”

Marinette choked on her coffee, and Adrien glanced at her for a moment, smiling as he remembered their interaction from the day before. She looked cute today, he noticed, and he considered telling her, but if he made her so uncomfortable just by _being_ that she could hardly speak, she’d probably hate another compliment from him.

“What’s this about Adrien being a trophy husband?” Nino spun around in his chair and hooked his elbows over the edge of Alya’s desk. “At least he’s not gonna follow Alya’s example and become a teenage stripper.”

Alya rapped Nino lightly across the head. “At least _I’m_ not gonna end up as a gas station attendant.”

The three of them continued to chatter lightly until their teacher came into the room with a very ominous-looking stack of English finals in her arms.

“Ah, fuck, here we go.”

“Language, Nino,” Marinette hissed, eliciting a smirk from the dark-haired boy in front of her.

“Oh, wouldja look at that! Goddamn, the letter F has never looked sexier,” Alya said the moment her essay got handed back, prompting a chagrined glare from Madame Arneaux.

“I personally think my F looks sexier than yours.”

“Oh, not a chance, Lahiffe. Yours looks like a deformed fork--”

As the two of them continued to bicker, Adrien’s English final landed on his desk, and his heart sank when he saw the big letter D on his own paper. It wasn’t a failing grade, but it wasn’t one his father would be happy with, either. How in the world was he going to explain this one away?

A soft, shaky voice cut through his thoughts. “What did you get, Adrien?”

Swiftly turning his paper over, Adrien glanced back and latched onto Marinette’s blue eyes, which were peering at him inquisitively over the top of her own paper.

“Ah, so she does speak.”

Marinette blushed brightly, and Adrien hurried to correct his mistake. “I didn’t mean it like that! I was just -- worried, that you were tired or something. It’s not like I _want_ you to -- uh--”

Since when did he stutter around her?

He noticed the odd expression Marinette was fixing him with, and it halted his tongue in his mouth. Slowly, she started to giggle, and after a moment, he joined in.

“You sound like me,” she said softly.

“I got a D,” Adrien responded.

Her brow creased. “Oh, no! Really?”

“You don’t have to pretend like you’re shocked,” Adrien chuckled. “Everyone in this class knows that I’m one of the worst essay writers ever to walk through this building.”

Marinette’s nose wrinkled with mirth. “But Nino and Alya got lower grades.”

“Well, I’m almost positive that Nino copy-pasted his off of Wikipedia, and Alya’s really good at essays when she decides to turn them in on time--”

“Ooh, my ears are burning. Is someone talking about me?” Alya twisted in her chair, fixing the two teens with a knowing hazel-eyed stare. “Mari, if you’re seriously trashing me, I swear I’m going to spill all your secrets on the internet--”

"I was not!" Marinette squealed. “Adrien said that you--”

“--were incredible at essay writing, and I’m honestly shocked that you got such a low score!” Adrien squawked, slapping his hand over Marinette’s mouth before she could incriminate him in front of their fiery-tempered friend.

Alya raised one eyebrow. “Oh, is that so? I’m honored. Keep singing my praises, please.”

“Uh...” Adrien tried to focus on Alya’s teasing expression. She quirked the other eyebrow in his direction, mischievously glancing from his dazed expression to the wide-eyed look on Marinette’s face.

She hadn’t made a move to push Adrien’s hand off of her yet, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He knew now that she wasn’t going to say anything, but he was at a loss for words too, and he’d had his hand there too long to take it away and pass it off with a laugh. He certainly wasn’t distracted by the feeling of Marinette’s lips on his palm...

Luckily, Alya saved him from his own mistake by moving her gaze to her dark-haired best friend. "Mari, I don't think he can focus while you're making out with his hand."

Marinette and Adrien jumped apart like they'd been electrocuted, both bright red while Nino guffawed with laughter.

"Nice job buttering me up by the way, Adrien," Alya remarked, unfazed by the sudden tension between her two friends. "Might've worked, if I didn't have the dorkiest best friend in the entire world. Marinette, don't you remember the advice I gave you this morning?"

"Alya, I _swear to--_ "

"Advice?" Adrien and Nino both said at the same time.

"What is it the kids say these days? _Spill the tea?"_ Nino said, in a pouty, high-pitched drawl that was clearly a poor attempt at an Alya impression.

"Never do that again, or so help me I will cut your balls off."

"How do you know I'm not into that?"

"Less flirting, more spilling tea!" Adrien interrupted.

Nino and Alya gave him twin glares and said at the same time, "We weren't flirting!"

"Whatever you say," Adrien said with a roll of his eyes. "What was the advice you were giving our shy gal this morning?" He glanced at the gal in question, to see that she was blushing even harder. "Didn't know Miss Perfect needed any advice about anything."

Marinette let out a strangled noise somewhere between a giggle and a scream, but nobody took any notice. Alya leaned in conspiratorially and then said, in a whisper almost louder than her regular tone of voice, "Mari's having _boy problems._ "

"I am not!" Marinette cried, flapping her arms and tugging at Alya's sleeve. "Quit it!"

"Oooooooh, who's the unlucky mystery man?" Nino crowed, elbowing his deskmate excitedly. "I never would've thought you'd cheat on Alya--"

"Nino, shut up--"

Adrien turned to look curiously at Marinette, who was hiding her face behind one of her hot pink binders. Or maybe that was just the color of her face at this point -- he couldn't really tell. "So, there's a man in your life, huh?"

Their eyes met...

But before she could answer, they were interrupted by an ear-shattering scream.

“What the fuck was--” Nino yelped, but Adrien was on his feet and out the door with a hollered request to go to the bathroom before he could finish his sentence.

He tried to shake off the dizzying feeling he’d gotten when she made eye contact with him, chalking the feelings up to exhaustion and first-week-back blues after the spring holidays. It had been _ages_ since he’d gotten to see his friends, and even longer since he’d had much... _feminine influence,_ because his favorite female companion had been on vacation with her family for almost the entirety of the break, and had only gotten back a few days ago. Even though the circumstances were dire, he was excited to see her again...

Crawling inside a janitor’s closet where he was sure he wouldn’t be seen, Adrien roughly prodded his snoozing kwami out of his shirt pocket. “Plagg, wake up! There’s something happening outside--”

“Ugh, you couldn’t have let me rest for just a little while longer?” the tiny black spirit whined.

“You’ve been _resting_ for the past two and a half weeks, so shut your mouth and get in the ring,” Adrien snapped.

“I _know_ the only reason you’re this excited is because you’ll get to see Ladybug again--”

“Not! The! Time!” hissed Adrien, wincing as he heard a muffled crash coming from outside the walls of the _lycée_ and the pound of feet as students flooded out of their classrooms to find cover. “Spots on!”

He felt a surge of otherworldly power flood through him as Plagg dived into his silver ring and he was enveloped in green light -- and when he returned to his senses, he was clad in his oh-so-familiar black suit, complete with green accents, his black mask, cat ears, and a bell on his collar.

Green eyes glinted from behind black leather, and Chat Noir grinned crookedly as he slid out of the janitor’s closet and glanced up at the enormous, camera-wielding villain lording over the nearby buildings -- and at the whirlwind of red-and-black polka dots already circling it.

“I’m coming, Ladybug!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ......buckle up, kiddos. :)


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the heroes fight an akuma, hug each other, and discover some exciting news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we goooooooo

It was good to be back.

Marinette’s fight with her father had put a bit of a damper on her weekend return from this year’s family trip to Amsterdam, and although seeing her friends had lifted her spirits considerably, _this_ was what she had really been looking forward to. Her muscles flexed as she tossed her yo-yo out to snare the nearest lamppost, propelling her closer to the akumatized civilian she was now facing, and as she flew through the air towards him, she felt like she was right back where she belonged.

“Why does nobody know how to _hold still for pictures anymore?”_ the Framer wailed, waving his camera in distress as Marinette continued to swing closer. “I have to do all the work myself around here--”

“I hope that doesn’t include _posing_ for the pictures, because having photos of you on my wall would give me nightmares!” a familiar voice called out.

Marinette’s heart soared, but she fought to tamp down her glee as one last well-placed swing of her yo-yo vaulted her forward to plant a kick squarely beneath the Framer’s jaw. He yelped in pain as his head snapped sideways, and before he could regain his senses, a blur of black and green was on top of him, scratching his scalp and tearing at his back.

He howled in pain and waved his camera wildly, and Marinette screwed her eyes shut as the flash went off several times in quick succession. Swinging her way to Chat’s side and pulling him out of range as the Framer swiped narrowly close to where the two heroes stood, Marinette felt a thrill as her gloved hand closed around her partner’s. Life had been so boring without any crime to fight.

“Nice to see you again, Alley Cat,” she said, spinning around another lamppost and using the momentum to throw herself and Chat at the supervillain.

“You’re as radiant as ever, my Lady!” Chat Noir called in response, as they landed twin kicks to the Framer’s gut and he howled in pain. “I must say, nothing says ‘homecoming quite like spending time with a gorgeous polka-dotted woman, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say that now isn’t the best time for flirting, Chat!” Marinette shouted, grinning despite herself and turning her face away just in time to avoid another camera flash.

“Fighting an akuma does come _purr-_ etty close, though. Gosh, I missed doing this!” Pulling his yo-yo off his belt, he sent it spinning towards Framer, letting out a whoop of glee when it clocked the supervillain right in one eye. “Boy, that one’s gonna leave a mark.”

“Keep distracting him, would you?” Marinette shouted.

“Your wish is my command -- and you know distractions are my specialty!”

Throwing one last glowing green wink in her direction, Chat Noir bounded back into the fray, dodging flying Polaroid photos and shutting his eyes whenever necessary to avoid the Framer’s deadly camera flash. Marinette, meanwhile, tossed her yo-yo in the air, ready to summon her Lucky Charm, and came back up with a polka-dotted pair of scissors.

She glanced up at the battle going on, wrinkling her brow -- but it took only a split second before she knew what she had to do.

“Chat, I’m going to need a boost!”

Without even needing to indicate that he’d heard her, Chat created a step with his hands, and as soon as Marinette had put a foot on it, he threw her high in the air, straight toward the Framer. With one swift chop, Marinette cut through the strap keeping the camera hung around the supervillain’s neck, and instead of catching it, she elected to watch it fall to the ground and smash into a million pieces in an explosion of white light.

She’d forgotten how good that felt.

The Framer let out a scream, his gargantuan form disintegrating to reveal the sweet, bespectacled old man who ran the photography shop a few streets over. Marinette caught the released akuma in her yo-yo, and with another flash, watched it go free as a harmless white insect.

“Bye-bye, little butterfly,” she murmured, smiling as she glanced over and saw Chat helping the shop owner to his feet.

She threw her spotted scissors in the air, marveling as they dissolved into a swarm of ladybugs and fixed all the damage that the Framer had done to the nearby areas. The beauty of the Miraculous still never failed to amaze her after all this time; in the blink of an eye, and now complete with a subtle shimmer, the city was back to its pristine self -- like nothing had ever happened.

Luckily, no civilians had been badly hurt, and they’d all avoided Framer’s camera flashes -- and so now, dozens of unscathed Parisians flooded onto the streets, whooping and cheering for their heroes.

Marinette turned to wave at them, enjoying the attention far more than she cared to admit, and after a moment was joined by her ~~least~~ favorite black cat, who threw winks and air-kisses at the crowd with abandon.

“Pound it,” he said.

Though Marinette wasn’t a fan of this fact, she had to admit that there was no better adrenaline rush than fist-bumping that idiot after a fight.

“And I meant it when I said it was wonderful to see you again, my Lady,” Chat added in a whisper, gently elbowing Marinette before standing back up and waving to the crowd once more. “Ah, thank you so much, my adoring fans! You’re all so attractive!”

Marinette rolled her eyes as her Miraculous beeped. “We’d better head out.”

Chat’s face fell for a moment. “What?”

Marinette’s brow wrinkled. “The Miraculouses, silly. Did your _entire_ brain fall out of your head over the holidays?”

Chat grinned. “That’s the first time you’ve ever actually acknowledged that I have one.”

“I’m so sorry. I take it back.”

“Too late!” With one last parting kiss at Paris, Chat Noir grabbed Marinette’s arm and they both vaulted to the top of the nearest building, sprinting away from their victory.

\---

“My goodness, Ladybug, have you gotten _shorter?”_

Marinette wrinkled her nose at her cat-eared companion. “Just because female growth spurts involve three inches instead of twenty-three, doesn’t mean you get to hold it over my head.”

“Oh, I believe that I could hold just about anything I _wanted_ to over your head,” Chat purred. “Considering how far down it is. You’re _paw-_ sitively tiny, my Lady.”

“Watch yourself, or I’ll use this on you,” Marinette hissed, shaking her yo-yo in Chat’s direction and feeling a flicker of jovial irritation when he seemed completely unfazed by the threat.

“Ooh, after all these years you’re finally tying me up? It’s a dream come true--”

Their Miraculouses both beeped in tandem, a second warning that their disguises would melt all too soon.

“That’s our cue,” Marinette said. “Sorry I didn’t get to fulfill all your sex fantasies for our first day back. Maybe on patrol tonight.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait that long,” Chat drawled.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Disgustingly handsome, yes.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Alley Cat.”

“You know I love it when you call me mean nicknames...”

Marinette snickered and turned to leave, but she was stopped by a clawed hand on her wrist.

“Hey, Ladybug?”

When she turned, Marinette was shocked by Chat’s sincere smile, a stark contrast to his usual shit-eating grin. His eyes were bright pools of green, taking in every inch of her face, and not straying on his usual detours down her body. He was just looking straight into her eyes, like he could see right into her soul.

“Yeah?”

He hugged her.

Ladybug and Chat Noir had always been very physical with each other -- they had to be, in their line of work. Balancing on each other’s hands, wrapping arms around each other’s waists, tossing each other into the air, standing on shoulders -- they did whatever it took to make sure they fought off akumas with practiced ease. And even as friends, they held hands occasionally and draped legs across one another on patrol -- but Marinette couldn’t remember the last time Chat Noir had hugged her.

It felt....warm. Safe. He had to bend down a little bit to tuck his golden head into the curve of her shoulder, and she had to stand on her tiptoes to wrap her arms properly around her neck, but she returned the hug with an amount of enthusiasm that surprised even her, because it felt so _right._

“I missed you a lot,” he murmured into her skin.

Marinette felt an unexpected flare of affection towards the silly stray in her arms. He’d been her partner in crime since they were thirteen, and even she had to admit that it had been strange not having him near -- although it would’ve been a bit ridiculous to try and drag him with her to Amsterdam. But a show of such simple, honest affection like this was out of character, even for him.

She had the sudden urge to ask him if he was okay.

A third beep -- their final warning -- pulled the heroes apart. Both were reluctant to go.

“....nice to have you back too, Kitty,” Marinette murmured.

She backed away, turned and hopped off the edge of the roof, all the while aware that Chat’s eyes never left the back of her head. As her superhero identity dissolved around her and Tikki appeared with a puff of pink smoke and a squeak of exhausted protest, Marinette glanced thoughtfully at the lip of the building.

Following her gaze, Tikki settled on Marinette’s shoulder and smiled warmly at the dark-haired teen. “It’s wonderful to see how much he cares about you.”

“It’s....” Marinette let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, thinking about how quickly they’d taken down the Framer and the sheer joy she’d felt at pounding her fist against his -- and then the strange emotion that had filled her when they hugged. “...it’s something, alright.”

\---

Adrien had missed his Lady...and until he’d been holding her in his arms, and she’d buried her face into his chest as if she was coming home, he hadn’t realized exactly how much.

It didn’t really come as a surprise to Adrien when he fell in love with Ladybug at fourteen. It was impossible not to love someone so unselfish, so unwaveringly loyal, so kind, and so all-around beautiful. But it also didn’t come as a surprise when she didn’t return his sentiments -- among all the other words that he could use to describe her, _unattainable_ had to be somewhere close to the top. Ladybug was the protector of Paris, the city’s scarlet-spotted savior, and she understood far better than he did that her chief responsibility was to the Parisian people. He knew that she cared for him -- he cherished every memory of the long talks they’d had on patrols, the casual conversations in the middle of battles, even the little flashes of affection in her eyes when he made another one of his stupid cat puns -- but he had accepted that it would never go beyond that. She wasn’t the type to fall in love with her crime-fighting partner.

And that was okay.

But that didn’t make it feel any less fantastic to just _hold_ her, and convince himself for a moment that she was holding him just as tightly because she wanted the same things.

A high-pitched, irritated voice floated into Adrien’s thoughts from somewhere near his left ear. “You’re daydreaming again. Also, you owe me more cheese.”

“You have done absolutely _nothing_ to warrant any extra cheese,” Adrien said. “If anything, I should be lowering your supply -- I know for a fact you could’ve held my transformation for longer, but you didn’t want to because you were lazy.”

“It’s been awhile!” Plagg responded petulantly. “Forgive me for needing a little bit of time to _readjust_. Not everyone has the tenacity of overly hormonal teenage boys.”

“I will have you know that my enthusiasm in that battle was driven _entirely_ by my love for the people of Paris, and was not at all motivated by how good Ladybug looks in that suit.”

“Whatever you say. Just put me back in your pocket so I can take a nap, please.”

The rest of the day passed by without much incident for Adrien; it was mostly comprised of homework, fighting off Alya’s incessant attempts to get him to look at the footage she’d gotten of the battle, an uncomfortable run-in with his father in which they made eye contact for a good fifteen seconds at the door before both striding off without a word, and, of course, lots and lots of thinking about Ladybug.

In fact, he thought about her so much that day that Adrien was practically _bouncing_ when it was time to meet her for patrol. He was still floating off of the high of hugging her, and even though he was sure her excitement at seeing him couldn’t nearly match his own, it didn’t stop him from trilling “Claws out!” in a bubbly soprano, and doing backflips across rooftops as he made his way to his bespeckled partner.

\---

He spotted her sitting atop the Arc de Triomphe like it was nothing at all, lounging on the stone as if it were just a couch in her house and swinging her feet back and forth over the dizzying drop below her.

Clambering up the side of the Arc with catlike reflexes, Adrien tiptoed across the top of the structure toward his unassuming Lady with a mischievous glint in his eye. He dropped into a crouch, belted tail waving ever so slightly, and crept toward her, fully prepared to scare the living daylights out of--

“Guess what??”

Adrien didn’t even have time to be disappointed by the fact that Ladybug had obviously heard him coming, because she’d flipped herself upright in one fluid motion and was now bouncing up and down before him, her blue eyes shining with excitement over a secret she was about to let him in on.

Grinning down at her, Adrien purred, “Ooh, did you want another hug? Or, wait, let me guess -- you’ve finally decided to confess your undying love to me! I accept your offer for my hand in marriage, Ladybug. Our kids will be so beautiful--”

“Will you shut up, I _actually_ have something exciting to tell you!” Ladybug was too excited to even roll her eyes at his joke, and that was how Adrien knew that this news must genuinely be really exciting...so instead of responding with another joke, he merely perked up his ears and nodded at her to continue.

“So I know we don’t usually do back-to-back nights because it tires the kwamis out but I found out about this _insanely_ cool underground dance club where people all have to wear masks, and they get the chance to compete against each other if they’re good enough, and apparently it’s a place where Miraculous heroes across _all of France_ like to unwind? And I just found out about it and I wanted to know if you’d--”

“Bugaboo, slow down!” Adrien chuckled. “I can’t keep up when you’re talking faster than Riposte. ***** ”

She was blushing slightly. “Sorry, I’m just....really excited.”

“I can see that.” Taking the opportunity to jokingly tug at one of her pigtails, Adrien questioned, “So you’re telling me that you found a masquerade dance club for other superheroes, and...you want to go?”

Ladybug’s brow knit. “Um, _obviously!_ ”

“My dearest Lovebug, are you asking me out on a _date_?”

His ‘dearest Lovebug’ rolled her eyes so far back in her head he thought they might stick. “You _wish,_ Kitty. But I’m serious.”

“How did you find out about this place?”

Ladybug opened her mouth, about to say that _her mother had mentioned the club to her as a fun spot to go with her friends, and she’d gone to check it out as Ladybug because she was scared of going to clubs as Marinette_ \-- but that definitely wouldn’t go over well. She’d sworn off revealing personal details about herself to her feline companion, knowing that he didn’t need fuel for his nosiness.

“I, uh...I saw a post about it on the Ladyblog.”

“Couldn’t have. I refresh the Ladyblog every two hours, and there wasn’t any mention of an underground superhero dance club.”

“And here I was thinking that you couldn’t get any more obsessed with me.” Ladybug snorted, rolled her eyes, and stood up on her tiptoes to ruffle Adrien’s hair. “Just trust me on this one.”

“You know I’d trust you with my life, Bug, but are you sure this isn’t some kind of trap? A ‘dance club for superheroes’ sounds like just the kind of setup that Hawk Moth would try to use to lure us in...especially since you like to dance, which you somehow never managed to mention to me.”

Trying not to cringe at Chat’s very obvious fixation with the personal detail she’d just shared, Marinette said, “I also visited so that I could scope the place out and make sure that it wasn’t dangerous...and I met another person with a Miraculous. He said he was from Orléans, and his name was Loupe Gris *****.”

Adrien quirked a brow at Marinette, who, despite her discomfort, was still looking up at him with those hopeful sapphire eyes he so loved. “Cheating on me with a foreign Frenchman? I’m heartbroken.”

“Chat--”

“All right, all right. But you’re _sure_ this is safe, Buggy? I’m not going to be carrying you out of the wreckage unconscious, am I?”

She snorted. “If anyone’s gonna be carrying anyone, it’ll be me hauling _your_ ass out of there. But even if it’s not safe...I think we can handle a dance club on our own.”

“How do you know I even like dancing?”

Ladybug grinned cheekily at him. “I don’t. But I know that you like hanging out with _me,_ and you’ll take any excuse you can get to do that. It’d just be a nice bonus if you liked dancing.”

She was absolutely correct.

***Riposte: An akumatized villain whose main attacks had to do with speed.**

***Loupe Gris: French for ‘Grey Wolf’.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter right after this has been my favorite one to write so far -- I'm a big fan of the Step Up movies, if any of you have seen those (if not, I recommend them) and they're all about underground clubbing and breakdancing. Hold onto your hats!


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which clothes are selected and the stage is set. (Literally and figuratively.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another big fat exposition chapter, but I love the idea of an underground dance club AND the idea of there being other miraculous heroes besides our loves LB and CN! My apologies for if I got any of the French animals' names wrong...I used Google Translate heh. Enjoy!

Marinette prided herself on a few things in life: being a talented yo-yo swinger, knowing her way around a dance floor, and having a fantastic wardrobe. But that fantastic wardrobe proved absolutely _useless_ when it turned out that she didn’t have anything to wear to the club that night.

She’d invited Alya over for help, telling her friend the white lie that she was going to a superhero-themed costume dance and needed help with an outfit -- everyone knew that Alya was the person to go to if you needed high-quality Ladybug merch.

The first thing Alya said when she came in, however, was “I’ll have you know that I’m _never_ going to forgive you for not inviting me. A superhero masquerade? This is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard about in my _life_ , and I don’t even get to go! Are you going to a dance club by _yourself_?”

“No, I’m not, Mom,” Marinette shot back, rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t invite you. I would, but my date would be pretty upset if I bailed on him--”

She realized her mistake too late -- Alya’s eyes lit up as she rounded on her best friend with feverish delight. “Ohmygod, _don’t_ tell me you’re going with Adrien!”

“Of course not!” Marinette shrieked. “I can still barely get a word in when I talk to him! I don’t know how I’d ever take him to a dance club--”

“Oh, so you’re _finally_ branching out from your exceedingly average-looking crush who you’ve liked throughout the entirety of the time we’ve been at _lycée?_ That’s even fucking better, Mari, who _is_ he?”

“He’s nobody,” Marinette responded primly. “Did you bring Ladybug-themed clothes for me?”

“Yes, I did, but you _cannot_ get away with saying that you have a hot date to a dance club that’s _not_ Adrien and then not tell me who it is! Is he attractive?”

“I guess so.”

“What do you mean, _you guess so_?”

“I _mean,_ he’s my friend, and I’ve never really seen him that way!”

Alya rolled her eyes dramatically. “Lies. Nobody ever invites someone of the opposite sex to a _club_ unless it’s someone they want to fuck.”

“Watch your language!” Mari squeaked. “And what on _earth_ makes you say that?”

“Come on, Mari. You could take a guy friend to the arcade, or to dinner, or for a fucking walk in the park, for Christ’s sake. You don’t take guys you’ve _never really seen that way_ to literal _dance clubs._ That’s, like, the number-one spot people go to bump uglies in public!”

“ALYA--”

“Fine, I’ll drop it for now. But I want _every detail_ when you’re back. And you _have_ to send me lots of selfies while you’re out there, and if you don’t hook up with at least _one_ hot guy then I’m personally dragging your ass back there every night until you pick one up.”

“Can you just give me my goddamn outfit already?”

\---

Adrien felt _extremely weird._

His regular civilian clothing wasn’t formal or anything, but it was clean-cut and organized-looking. And the clothes he wore to shoots, to dinners with his dad, and all his other formal events were obviously gorgeous, high-quality, and made him look like a child CEO. And his superhero suit...well, it wasn’t any of those things, but it _definitely_ wasn’t this.

After that evening’s modeling session, he’d stayed behind an extra hour under the pretense of “wanting to get ahead for next week’s shoot”, which earned an impressed glance from his father and a promise that Nathalie would come by to pick him up. Adrien had spent that hour digging through all of the last few seasons’ casual wear that he could find, finally cobbling together an outfit that had looked incredible on the hangers, but now looked nothing short of _ridiculous_ on him.

He was wearing a black tank top, a cropped black hoodie with green accents and _cat ears_ on the hood, matching black-and-green sweatpants, black gloves, and bright green trainers -- complete with a belled collar, and a cheap knockoff Chat Noir mask he’d bought in a souvenir store.

He looked like if Chat Noir had just rolled out of bed one day and decided to become a SoundCloud rapper, and...

...he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Part of him felt stupid, and that was the bigger part. Like the second he walked into the club and locked eyes with Ladybug, she’d laugh at him till he turned tail and ran all the way home.

But another, _smaller_ part of his brain felt...cool. Badass. Like he could bust a few moves right now, and sweep any woman he wanted off his feet, and walk with a swagger everywhere he went. The tank top was just a little small, and the sweats rode low on his waist, meaning just a few inches of his stomach and V-lines were visible...and he had to admit, he felt a little bit sexy.

He was desperate to know how Ladybug would react to him looking like this.

“Plagg? What’s the verdict?”

“You’re wearing pieces of black-and-green fabric. They look like clothes. Good job,” the kwami drawled from his perch atop Adrien’s dresser.

“I’m _serious_!” Adrien pouted. “This is supposed to be a cool event, and I don’t want to show up looking stupid.”

“Bit late to the game on that one, kid.”

Adrien growled in frustration. “You’re no help.”

“Thank you. Do those stupid pants of yours have pockets?”

“Yeah, and they’re fleece-lined. Your nap tonight will be _great_ , as long as I don’t dance too much.”

“Ugh, I forgot that randomly moving your bodies to stupid electronic beats is another thing humans like to do,” Plagg grumbled. “Let me know before you start dancing so you can toss me out of your pocket and I can find somewhere to hide.”

“Everyone there is gonna have a kwami, so who knows? You might make some friends,” Adrien said. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate your cheerful and sunny disposition.”

“Yeah, yeah. Less talking, more letting me nap.”

As Plagg settled in for his journey and Adrien eased his window shut behind him, he turned to gulp in the cool night air and felt a thrill go through him, for several reasons. One, this was the closest he and Ladybug had ever come to interacting with one another as civilians; two, Adrien had only ever met other Miraculouses before as akumatized supervillains, and he was a mixture of excited and terrified to meet more people like him and her; and three...he wanted to see what Ladybug was wearing.

Really badly, actually.

Take a guess as to which reason was his biggest motivator for taking off through the streets at a sprint towards the address written on his arm.

\---

The outside of the club was incredibly nondescript; it looked practically abandoned, with a faded “THE LAUGHING BEAR” sign hanging halfway off the cracked façade...but this was just a glamour, Ladybug knew. She’d gotten a peek at the club’s interior when she’d met Loupe a few days prior, and she knew that the inside was nothing like the outside.

She had shown up early out of nervousness and habit, and decided to wait for Chat on the sidewalk, but began to regret her decision as she realized she was a scantily clad teen girl standing alone on the streets of Paris after dark. There was no shortage of judgmental, curious, and even leery stares thrown her way from other passersby, and Marinette shrank underneath the scrutiny.

After a few moments of deliberation, Marinette swore under her breath and turned to circle the building, slipping into an alleyway with nothing interesting about it save an overflowing dumpster and an iron door beside it.

Marinette lifted her hand, rapped smartly on the door thrice, and prayed that when Chat showed up, he’d assume she was already inside.

After a moment, the door opened just a crack, and a set of glowing yellow eyes poked out.

“State your superhero name and present your kwami, please.”

“Ladybug.” Marinette reached into the pocket of her sweatpants and produced Tikki, who, despite her own nerves, let out a polite little squeak of greeting. “And this is Tikki.”

The yellow eyes crinkled up in a smile, and the door opened just a little bit wider to allow Marinette inside. The sounds of thumping bass, flowing alcohol, and laughter spilled out into the street, and Marinette took a moment to simply drink it all in -- partially to enjoy her first taste of clubbing, and partially to steel herself for going inside.

The doorkeeper poked his head out, revealing that those eyes belonged to none other than Loupe, the hero Marinette had met just a few days earlier. “Hey, girl. You ready for this?”

Marinette shook her head. “To be honest with you? I’d take fighting a couple of akumas over this, easily.”

Loupe’s face split into an extremely pointy grin, and he opened the door even wider. “That’s the spirit. Get your cute butt in here, and let’s get you dancing.”

\---

The atmosphere somehow managed to crush the breath out of Marinette’s lungs and fill her up till she was about to burst at the same time; pulsing strobe lights, concrete floors, glowing graffiti, the scent of alcohol, and the press of warm bodies everywhere filled her senses until she nearly forgot where she was. But a reassuring pat on the shoulder from Loupe brought her back to the present, and she allowed him to elbow a path for her through the crowd until they reached a glowing bar.

“You drink?” he shouted over the noise.

Marinette’s eyes widened, and she shook her head hard.

Her stomach settled with relief when Loupe didn’t press the issue, instead turning and respectfully asking a handsome blue-clad bartender for something nonalcoholic. As he worked, Marinette noticed a slightly reptilian-looking turquoise kwami floating around his head, giving him advice on what he should put in the drink. The two of them bantered back and forth, the kwami even tossing in a pinch of sugar, before the young man presented Marinette with her finished drink.

“Name’s Poisson Bleu,” he said good-naturedly, “and that there’s a virgin mojito. Basically cinnamon-sugar lemonade -- with no alcohol in it, as requested.”

Marinette took a sip of the drink and closed her eyes as its frosty sweetness made its way across her tongue, marveling at Poisson’s talent for drink-mixing. “Shit, this is really good. Where does a teenager like you get off knowing how to mix drinks that well?”

“Eh, gives me a free pass to slip a bit of alcohol for myself at parties,” he told her with a wink. “But this is your first time here, isn’t it? What are you doing standing around and talking to me? Go watch the action?”

Marinette was barely able to say “What action?” before Loupe was pulling her through the crowd of dancing people again -- and now, Marinette was able to take in her surroundings in earnest.

Everyone here was wearing casually stylish athleisure in bright colors, much like Marinette, and all of them wore matching colorful masks that gave some sort of indication as to what their hero identities were. Marinette remembered that Poisson Bleu’s mask had been blue, and flickered with iridescent scales in the half-light; she bumped into a girl with a spotted yellow mask and _ridiculously_ long legs (most likely Girafe); Loupe’s mask was a steely grey and sported ears similar to Chat’s; and in the air above everyone’s heads, various animal kwamis were twirling and floating through the room in little dances of their own.

It was amazing to watch.

Loupe pulled Marinette all over the building, shoving through various circles of dancing heroes and introducing her to everyone in sight. Names and faces blurred together -- L’Araignée, Loutre, Grand Taureau, Lapin Rapide, Chien Blanc ***** (Chat definitely wasn’t going to like that one) -- and the pace at which everything was moving made Marinette dizzy, but she had never felt more exhilarated in her life.

After a final introduction to Serpent Venimeux*, during which Marinette fought not to shuffle her feet under his piercing, glassy stare, Loupe pulled her slightly away from the crowd and asked under his breath, “Hey, is your partner here yet?”

Marinette blinked, realizing that it had been nearly half an hour and there was still no sign of Chat. She swallowed, trying not to think of what trouble he’d run into -- or worse still, if he’d stood her up -- and said, “I’m sure he’ll be here. Cats have no concept of time.”

Loupe chuckled. “Well, I sure hope he gets in here time for the Superhero Showdown.”

“What’s the Superhero Showdown?”

At that moment, an enormous roar went up from the assembled crowd, and Marinette realized that they’d all amassed in a large ring in an area of the building she hadn’t gotten to yet.

Loupe grinned wickedly. “Come find out.”

***Heroes’ Names:**

**L’Araignée (The Spider)**

**Loutre (Otter)**

**Grand Taureau (Big Bull)**

**Lapin Rapide (Quick Bunny)**

**Chien Blanc (White Dog)**

**Serpent Venimeux (Poisonous Snake)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is gonna be a LOT of fun :))


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the fun begins.

Loupe and Marinette practically _sprinted_ to get a spot at the front of the group, each for different reasons -- Loupe was clearly a seasoned Superhero Showdown-watcher, and Marinette felt her pulse spike as the energy in the room went up tenfold. This was going to be the highlight of her night, she was sure of it.

A bellow shook the crowded room, coming from the booming voice of a muscular twenty-something who Marinette couldn’t see yet, even as she strained on her tiptoes. “Ladies and gentleheroes, your favorite announcer Ours Rugissant ***** is IN THE HOUUUUUUUSE!”

A deafening scream went up from the crowd, and with a little bit of maneuvering and wobbling, Marinette was able to find a vantage point that gave her a clear view of the scruffy young man with the microphone and headset. He was standing at an incredibly hi-tech DJ booth and was dressed in black and brown, and his face was twisted in a grin of crazed excitement as he hyped the group up.

“Who’s ready for another SUPERHERO SHOWDOWN???”

Another earsplitting roar and a surge of bodies pushing forward shoved Marinette to the very front, where she caught her first glimpse of the actual environment -- and her jaw dropped.

Before her, sunken several inches into the ground, was a glittering black dance pit, with lines of fluorescent light flashing across it every time a stray foot touched the stone. Ours came to stand in the center of the floor, colorful arcs radiating outward from beneath his shoes as he spread his arms wide. “Today, we’re bringing in two favorites for this year’s championship -- TEAM RENA ROUGE AND TEAM CARAPACE!!!”

Marinette’s brow wrinkled; why did those names sound so familiar?

But before she could give it any thought, a young man and woman and their own separate teams of dancers tumbled onto the floor, and all her thoughts disappeared as she was captivated by the scene in front of her.

Ours started to play a synthy, sultry beat at his booth, and the redheaded girl in slinky orange athleisure didn’t hesitate to drop to the floor and shimmy back up, moving her hips and torso and backside in a way that simply screamed “experienced clubber”. But it wasn’t all for the sex appeal; her moves were swift, poised, and clearly practiced, and as her other fox-themed backup dancers fell into step beside her in a hypnotic rhythm, Marinette let out an appreciative little gasp at their talent.

The other hero, a boy in green, seemed unimpressed, however; Marinette could practically see his raised eyebrows from underneath his mask, and she giggled when he stifled a fake yawn. He simply stood there with a hand on his hip, watching Rena and her teammates bust it down like there was no tomorrow -- but the second that there was a lull in her dance, he rocketed forward in a backflip that would’ve impressed Olympic tumblers, landing directly in front of Rena and proceeding to dish out a dizzying series of breakdance moves that left the crowd hollering for more.

His green-clad group broke out into an equally badass breakdancing set, twirling themselves and balancing in ways Marinette hardly thought possible -- but Rena’s team matched them twist for turn. Marinette and the rest of the crowd watched appreciatively as the two groups traded dance moves, getting more frenzied as the beat built up, and the crowd’s reactions rose and fell with the scene before them. They roared when someone hit a particularly good move, jumped up and down when the bass dropped, and quieted down when there were lulls in the set, or when the team leaders would pause their dance to circle on another like jungle cats.

This was a battle, just like one between any hero and an akumatized villain; this was just a battle without weaponry or magic or cursed butterflies. They fought with their eyes, with the quirk of Carapace’s lips and the toss of Rena’s hair and the gyrations of their bodies that were meant to punch one another in the gut; but they were so evenly matched that it was impossible at any point to tell who was winning.

Marinette had no words to describe what she was seeing other than _beautiful._

And she had never wanted so badly to be a part of a dance.

After what felt like an eternity, but had really only been something like ten minutes, the final note of Ours’ song crashed through the speakers, and the other heroes went wild with excitement. Both dance groups on the floor were giving each other friendly dagger eyes, pushing one another around, and jokingly trash-talking for the audience to hear.

“I think it’s safe to say that these two teams will be tough to beat at the championships this year, so other challengers have their work cut out for them!” Ours hollered. “But for now...let’s get to the _real_ fun.”

Rena spun around and tossed Ours the finger. “As if watching my team move wasn’t fun enough!”

Carapace scoffed at his scarlet-haired opponent. “Please, I could go to any club in the city if I wanted to see that kind of ass-shaking. _My_ group’s skills are clearly superior.”

The barest hint of a smile tugged at Rena’s features before she was up in Carapace’s face. “Wanna bet?”

The crowd let out a chorus of “Ooh”s and “fight, fight!” and for a moment, both heroes seemed intent on another dancing square-off right then and there, but Ours waved them away before they could.

“Alright, alright, get a room, you two. As you all know, every year before the dance championships start, TWO NEW HEROES are allowed to try out to be a part of our top two teams -- and, of course, this year, Rena and Carapace are topping the charts,” Ours said, grinning devilishly at the crowd before him. “Any of you pansies ever wanted to get your ass handed to you in a one-on-one breakdance contest?”

“Are these like auditions?” Marinette whispered to Loupe, who somehow hadn’t gotten lost in the fervor of the dance battle.

Loupe snorted. “You could say that...why, did you want to?”

Marinette swallowed, but the glimmer of excitement in her gaze did not go unnoticed by her sharp-eyed new friend. “Oooooh, girl, you _just_ got here. Do you really have the balls to go up against more experienced superheroes just for the chance at being on one of those teams? You can try next year--”

“If my family has their way, I’ll be at university studying English next year,” Marinette growled, surprising herself with her own sudden boldness. “And besides...I’ve been dancing my entire life.”

“Not this kind of dancing, you haven’t.”

Marinette frowned. “Try me.”

Loupe’s eyes flashed with mischief. “You asked for it, sister.”

And without another word, he reached out and pushed her straight into the ring.

Colors exploded in the floor beneath Marinette’s feet, and it took all her willpower to keep herself from tripping -- she already probably looked downright stupid careening headlong through the crowd and into the pit against her own will.

“OHO, LOOKS LIKE WE HAVE OUR FIRST CHALLENGER!” Ours hollered as a chorus of murmurs went up from the gathered heroes in the crowd.

“What?” Marinette squawked.

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Loupe yelled from the edge of the crowd. “Auditions are on-the-spot improvisation, in front of everybody, and they happen _right now!”_

Marinette shrank back from all of the gazes that were now on her, sizing her up and measuring her worth. She felt like she was back at home, pinned to the floor by her father’s stare all over again--

But _this_ time, it was something she was good at that they were judging her for. This time, it was something she loved. And _wanted_ to do. And by God, she may be Paris’s princess, but she could get down and dirty in sweatpants if she needed to--

“What’s your name, little lady?” Ours asked, his expression almost kind as he leaned over the booth to point the microphone at Marinette’s face.

“U-um...it’s Ladybug,” she stammered.

“Ladybug! Are you new? I feel like all of us would’ve noticed a pretty girl like you hanging around this club if you’d come by before...”

“Y-yeah, I am,” Marinette mumbled, earning another chorus of gasps from the crowd. “This is my first time ever coming here. First time ever, uh...meeting other superheroes, actually. I always knew they existed, but, uh--”

She bit her own tongue, realizing she’d come dangerously close to rambling territory, but her words had sent a ripple of shocked whispers through the assembled audience. She wanted to shrink into her shoes.

“Ah, so a brand-new face not only to the world of hero clubbing, but to the world of heroes in _general,_ ” Ours drawled, leering at Marinette over his booth. “You’ve sure got a set of balls, trying out for a top team when you’re so fresh-faced.”

Marinette fought to keep from flushing with embarrassment, noting the challenging look on Ours’ face and realizing something to herself. _The audition’s already begun._

This was just like ballet classes; your test started the moment you walked into the room. The way you held yourself, your swagger, your ability to keep cool under pressure -- it wasn’t just your dance skills they were gauging, it was everything about you.

Marinette straightened up.

“Yeah, guess I do have some balls. Bigger than yours, anyway -- I don’t hide behind DJ booths,” she said, shocked by her own boldness.

Ours looked taken aback as the crowd howled with laughter, but after a moment his face broke into a good-natured (albeit extremely toothy) grin. “So, you’ve got a sharp tongue, huh? Let’s see if your feet are as quick as your mouth.”

He turned and gestured to the edge of the ring, where Rena and Carapace’s teams were assembled on opposite sides. “Pick the team you’re playing for.”

Marinette swallowed. What did she want to do? She knew that she had the coordination to be able to breakdance, but...

She’d always had self-esteem issues. Marinette rarely looked into the mirror in the mornings and liked what she saw looking back at her; she’d only recently become even _okay_ with her body, but she was far from in love with the way she looked. Confidence had never been one of her strong suits, and though she’d learned to fake it, she was getting tired of that.

But Rena Rouge and her team of foxy misfits weren’t faking anything; their confidence was real, raw, and powerful, and it oozed off of them in waves. They were _sexy,_ plain and simple; and Marinette wanted to be more than just a cute little girl or a bug with a yo-yo for once.

“Team Rena,” she said into the microphone.

Rena’s face broke out into an intrigued but approving smile, and she sauntered down the steps into the pit so she could size Marinette up.

She was even more attractive up close, Marinette realized, and she fought hard not to let her intimidation show as the hourglass-shaped young woman circled her, looking her up and down, and unashamedly checking out her chest an ass. _No doubt making sure her assets were big enough to be a team member_ , Marinette thought dryly to herself.

“You’ve got a nice body,” Rena said at last, not letting a hint of her opinion show as she turned to face Marinette. “Get out there and prove to me you know how to use it, little bug.”

Swallowing thickly, Marinette nodded, and Rena faded back into the edge of the crowd.

“Alright, now we’re waiting for a challenger who’s willing to play for Team Carapace...any takers? Any volunteers? Or has the little spotted insect scared you all away without even showing off her moves?”

The audience rippled with laughter, but they all seemed hesitant to step forward, until--

There was a commotion at the back of the room. People squawked and cursed and were roughly shunted aside as a clubgoer who had clearly just arrived shoved their way through the crowd, getting closer and closer to the dance pit where Marinette now stood.

An oh-so-familiar voice yowled, “Team Carapace! I’ll stand for Team Carapace!”

And then, in a blur of black-and-green, Chat Noir tumbled onto the dance floor.

\---

Adrien allowed himself a few moments to regain his senses.

The club had been difficult to find; Ladybug had told him the name of it, but “The Laughing Bear” didn’t show up _anywhere_ on Google Maps, and so Adrien had had to spend the past half hour combing the streets of Paris until he found the dilapidated-looking building on a street corner with its sign so faded you could barely read the words.

“No wonder it’s not on the map anymore,” he’d thought to himself irritably as he stalked into the back alleyway. “I wouldn’t want anyone to be able to find _my_ club if it looked like that.”

But upon presenting Plagg and being allowed entrance, he’d immediately changed his tune.

The thumping bass and sweat-perfumed air were a heady and dangerous combination, and one that intoxicated Adrien without having to take even a sip of alcohol. The idea that Ladybug was here, dancing among these pressing bodies, drove him mad with both worry for her safety and warmth on his cheeks -- and he was already nervous enough that he was too late to catch her. What if she’d left without him?

But when a clear, bell-like voice rang out over the speakers in the most crowded area of the room, Adrien felt his heart jump with relief -- there she was. There his Lady was, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to ask her for at least one dance before the night was over.

But...what was she doing talking into a microphone?

Ducking so as not to disturb the mass of watching kwamis above his head, Adrien had made his way over to the crowd of people, hearing Ladybug introduce herself and choose a dance team. Now, Adrien wasn’t necessarily the sharpest kitten in the kennel, but he knew a dance competition when he saw one, and when he heard Ladybug’s quip to the DJ about the size of her balls, he was possessed by a strange _need_ to watch her dance. Never mind that he could dance as well, because Adrien was sure Ladybug could best him at just about anything in her sleep -- he just needed to watch her move.

So he’d barreled through the crowd without a second thought, discarding his apologies in favor of using his elbows and knees to push the other heroes aside -- and when he tumbled into the ring with catlike grace and heard an appreciative cheer go up from the crowd, he knew he’d made the right decision.

He grinned at the crowd, throwing a few winks at some of the heroes and delivering a short mock bow, before a microphone was thrust in his direction. “A new challenger for Team Carapace, you say? What’s your name, handsome?”

Adrien opened his mouth to speak, turning around to look at his Lady for the first time that night--

The words died in his throat.

His eyes first locked onto her face -- her lips slightly parted and face flushed with excitement, a red-and-black baseball cap placed at a jaunty angle across her dark pigtails, and her familiar spotted mask perched on the bridge of her sweat-slick nose.

But as soon as his eyes trailed down her face, he lost his entire train of thought -- in fact, he was pretty sure he lost his ability to think altogether.

Adrien was rendered speechless by the sheer amount of _skin_ that was exposed before him. Ladybug was by no means the most scantily dressed girl there, dressed in a simple red polka-dotted crop top, functional black sweats, and red sneakers -- but the fact that it was _her,_ his best friend and crime-fighting partner and the girl who he’d been pining after for four years, made it all the more mind-numbing to see her like this.

She looked like a _regular person_ without the suit -- she still had that same heroic aura about her, but she was dressed so simply, and so caught up in the heat of the moment, and so goddamn _beautiful_ that Adrien could barely think. Her stomach, arms, and half-exposed calves were deliciously toned from all those years of swinging from rooftops and chasing akumas, and her sweatpants sat tantalizingly low on her waist, revealing V-lines even more impressive than his own.

Even her shoulders -- _shoulders!_ were exposed. Adrien had always thought the rule about girls having to cover their shoulders was ridiculous, because who could ever sexualize such a simple and unassuming body part? But now he understood, because if the club had been warm before, now it was positively _burning_ as Adrien shamelessly checked Ladybug out for the better part of ten seconds -- or maybe ten minutes, or ten years, or--”

She was grinning.

She was taking him in in his own civilian dance clothing, and the shit-eating grin on her face felt like looking in a mirror. He knew that she wasn’t making fun of him -- the flash of her eyes was different than the one he saw so often when she teased -- but she was _definitely_ enjoying the fact that just by wearing a goddamn _crop top and sweatpants,_ she’d managed to turn Adrien into a brainless dummy who for some reason didn’t know English or basic motor functions any more.

“Um...hello?”

A gentle rap on the forehead with the microphone brought him back to reality, and he realized that the DJ was still waiting for his answer.

“Wah--huh?”

Ladybug doubled over in silent giggles, and the crowd seemed to be picking up on what was happening as well, chuckling a little along with her. But this posturing and buildup had gone on long enough, and Adrien knew enough about dance circles to know it wouldn’t be much longer before they lost interest.

“Sorry,” he said, coughing a few times until his voice had returned to its normal pitch. “My name is Chat Noir, and I’m going to be competing to join Team Carapace.”

From across the room, he made eye contact with Carapace, who grinned and flashed him a thumbs-up.

“You sure you aren’t gonna get distracted by your competitor while dancing?” the DJ asked teasingly. “She seems to have got you a little starstruck there.”

Ladybug blushed a little bit, and Adrien couldn’t tell if it was from the DJ’s joke or from the heated way his own eyes were still fastened to her powerful form. _God,_ she was gorgeous.

_Focus, Adrien. Focus._

“Oh, no,” Adrien drawled, regaining a little more of his composure with every second that went by. “I’ve been fighting crime with her for four years now, and trust me, she is _not_ as distracting as she looks.”

“Oooooooh” the crowd chorused in unison.

“Oh, this one is gonna be juicy! Partners in crime, turned to rivals on the dance floor. Who’s gonna come out on top?”

_I was thinking we’d take turns--_

“I wouldn’t count on it, Ours,” Ladybug chuckled to the DJ. “This one’s got big talk, but he’s distracted by every piece of ass that moves within a hundred-mile radius. I’m surprised he didn’t get a nosebleed just from walking into the club.”

Another “ooooh” from the crowd, and a hearty guffaw from the DJ -- Ours, Ladybug had said his name was. But Adrien had lost his focus again, completely transfixed by the competitive and strangely _heated_ way that Marinette was staring at him.

“What’s the matter, Chattykins?” she purred after a moment. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

Ours’ eyebrows were practically in his hairline by this point. “Alright, I’m...sensing some tension here that I don’t really know how to explain, so let’s just call it good with the pregame trash-talk and GET INTO THE DANCING, SHALL WE?”

Reenergized from the confrontation they’d just witnessed, the crowd cheered, and before Adrien had time to think or say anything, Ours had his hands on the booth again and another heavy, thumping beat was booming from the speakers.

Oh, god.

This was really happening, wasn’t it?

_I’m about to have a dance-off with Ladybug._

_I’m about to have a dance-off with Ladybug, when all I’ve ever done is ballet, and when it’s taking literally all my willpower not to pass out ever single time I look at her..._

And then she started dancing, and Adrien for the life of him couldn’t tell you what happened after that.

***Heroes’ Names:**

**Ours Rugissant (Roaring Bear)**

**Rena Rouge (Red Fox)**

**Carapace (Shell/Turtle Shell)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for where this story is going :)


End file.
